


Called You Friend

by the_arc5



Category: Star Trek XI
Genre: Angst, M/M, Poetry, Sexual Content, Tarsus IV, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-21
Updated: 2009-11-20
Packaged: 2017-10-23 00:25:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_arc5/pseuds/the_arc5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Enterprise is sent to deal with a situation, and one of their own is taken.  But this is not where the story begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, this fic is dedicated to my talented and hard-working beta, [](http://amaberis.livejournal.com/profile)[**amaberis**](http://amaberis.livejournal.com/). None of this would have happened without her. The mistakes that remain are all mine. Secondly, a word on technicalities like stardates: I did my best, with assistance from Memory Alpha, but I also made a lot of stuff up. With stardates especially, I followed the grand TOS tradition of just stringing numbers together. As the number gets higher, more time has passed; that's about as technically accurate as I can be.

**Mission Brief  
U.S.S. Enterprise  
Issued SD 2378.24  
Starbase 273**

 **Prenda III is experiencing a global famine. Prenda has been declared in a state of Planetary Emergency, and Federation relief has been delegated. It will arrive in approximately two Standard weeks. As the nearest Federation vessel, the Enterprise is ordered to function as Federation emissaries until relief aid arrives. The Enterprise is hereby authorized to organize emergency aid institutions and perform diplomatic duties as necessary. Coordinates and cultural briefing attached.**

***

s'chn t'gai spock, commander, u.s.s. enterprise, serial number S179-276SP. s'chn t'gai spock, commander, u.s.s. enterprise, serial number S179-276SP. s'chn t'gai spock, commander, u.s.s. enterprise, serial number S179-276SP. s'chn t'gai spock, commander, u.s.s. enterprise, serial number S179-276SP. s'chn t'gai spock, commander, u.s.s. enterprise, serial number S179-276SP. s'chn t'gai spock, commander, u.s.s. enterprise, serial number S179-276SP.

***

The cultural development of Prenda III is of great interest to comparative sociologists, largely due to the unique fusion of village and global mentalities that dictate Prendite social structure. Geographically, Prenda III's land masses are separated by large rivers, but the planet has no oceans. Some historians postulate that the close proximity of early Prendite tribes to one another, as well as the early development of river navigation, contributed to development of trade routes and intertribal relations which eventually led to the global government Prenda supports in the modern day. Despite this global mentality, Prendites place heavy cultural significance on the family and the village; the planet has no major cities, but is rather supported by a network of small agricultural communities. The strange combination of globalization and almost feudalistic societal structure extends to Prenda's intergalactic relations as well. Prendites have long been aware of life beyond their own planet, and trade fairly extensively with Arcis, the sixth planet in the Lucis orbital system. Their acceptance into the Federation was more or less a diplomatic ceremony that meant little to either the Prendites or the Federation. Prendite produce is a rare and valuable commodity for vegetarian gourmets, but there Prendite influence on other Federation members ends. As for Prenda III, it officially supports the Federation's diplomatic efforts and quietly goes on with the same peaceful existence it has enjoyed for centuries, uninvolved in what those diplomatic efforts actually entail...

 _Malencon Ve'nbe  
A Brief Introduction to the Allied Planets of the Federation_

***

Will you ask strangers to care for your family? Will you willingly give your land to foreign hands? Will you put your faith in these matzkahm from the stars? This Federation feeds like a gartu, its web stretched wide between the branches of the universe, each planet a quivering morsel to its greedy maw. It claims us, then abandons us, an adopted child left outside to starve. It wants us, but to what end? Does it look after us? Does it prize our lands and rivers as we do? Does it take pride in us, as family takes pride in its children? No! The Federation demands our allegiance and rejects us in the same breath! We are of one family, and we owe no allegiance to those who would forget us!

 _Excerpt from a speech by Kahienre of Isza, Prendite activist_

***

 _George S. Kirk  
135 Boyd Ave  
Apt J  
Tulsa, OK 74101_

September 20, 2256

Dear Sam,

Seriously? Another one? What is it about Oklahoma that makes you so eager to have babies, huh? Aurelan must look like a goddess of the wheat fields or something. Tell her I said congratulations, by the way, and good luck. God only knows why she would agree to procreate with you twice. Thank goodness Kyle took after his good-looking, funny, intelligent, charming, totally bad-ass uncle. And he's got his mother's eyes. That's nice.

Really, though, I'm happy for you two. And no, that doesn't mean I'm looking to you for an example of how I should settle down. I don't know why I didn't think of Academy before; place is crawling with singles of every make and model. Met this Orion girl in one of my programming classes, gorgeous hair, legs all the way to the _ground_. I'm hoping to run into her this weekend. Sam, I can see you shaking your head at me all the way from San Francisco. Stop it. I am not, as you so elegantly dubbed me in your last missive, an _incorrigible whore_. I accept nothing for my service but mutual satisfaction, and I can't help it if there are a lot of people that need satisfying. And before you ask, yes, the Roommate Dilemma continues. Bones is my best friend, and seriously, I'm not a jackass. But I'm not blind, though I may have to stab my eyes out soon in order to keep up my resolve. He comes in _dripping_ , Sam. Man thinks towels were invented to frame his hips, I swear. I resorted to actually _reading_ my assignments for once when he came in the other day. He'd played a pickup game of football with some people from Med, and he was all grassy and sweaty, and he started shucking clothes as fast as he could. Thing was, he didn't want to get grass all over the floor, so he was being all twisty and bendy about it. I swear, it was the best striptease I've seen since you took me to that joint in Iowa for my sixteenth birthday. Anyway, so he finishes his Anal-Retentive Dance of Seduction and hits the showers, comes back dripping wet, and flings himself onto his bed utterly naked and _moaning_. I ask you, Sam: IS THIS ANY WAY TO TREAT YOUR ROOMMATE? I couldn't even jerk off until I got in the shower a solid six hours later. He does this to me, gets me all comfortable, and then lays himself out like a fucking buffet of gorgeous. And he wonders why I throw things at his head.

Studies are fine. Slept my way through Foundations of Starfleet, and no great loss there. Essentially, all hail the mighty Vulcans and their pointy eyebrows of progress. Spare me. I just skipped the day they did Tarsus. I think I'm going to join Xenolinguistics club. It's totally unrelated to my focus, but even I can tell that some of these translations they give us are shit. I caught six incorrect verb tenses in "The Ballad of Gai-tan'ee" alone. Standard issue textbooks, honestly. Hell in a handbasket, brother, hell in a handbasket.

Speaking of standard-issue failures, do I even want to know why Aurelan sent me a box of socks and underwear? I mean, I'm eternally grateful, as apparently regulation undergarments must be stitched from low-grade sandpaper, but how did she know that? In any case, my ass thanks her. Can I say that to my brother's wife? Okay, I take it back, don't discuss my ass with her. That's just creepy.

Well, I guess I'll wrap it up. There's some sort of concert Bones wants to go to. It'll probably be horrible; Bones can drink like a champ, and he hasn't once made fun of my books, but the man has absolutely no taste in music. But I can deny him nothing, especially when he gets all nonchalant and acts like he doesn't care. That's how I know he really, really wants something. You can wipe that grin off your face _right now_ , George Samuel. Just because I'm hopelessly in love with him does not mean I'm coming to live next door to you and have ungodly amounts of children. Besides, the way Bones swears, Aurelan would just die.

Oh, there's a data chip in here. NOT KID FRIENDLY, SO KEEP KYLE THE HELL AWAY FROM IT. It's actually a sim we run in one of my classes, but I got creative with one of my lit assignments and added a vague sort of storyline. Voila, brother: your very own first-person shooter. Blow up Klingons to your heart's content. See? I do love you.

I'll talk to you soon. And call whenever, you know I never sleep.

\- Jim

***

 _Joanna McCoy  
1421 N Augusta Ave  
Waycross, GA 31503_

My Jojo,

Did you get your teddy bear? Daddy sent it last week, so it should be there by now. Give him a big hug and a kiss, okay? He's a magic bear, and while you're asleep, he'll send me all your hugs and kisses, and he'll give all my hugs and kisses to you, so you never forget that Daddy loves you.

You wanted to see pictures of my new house, and here they are. This is a picture of where I live. My bed has the blue blanket. Your picture is on my shelf. The man in the picture is my friend Jim. He says to tell you hello. Jim is going to be a starship captain when he grows up. Someday, we're going to space together, so I can fix him when he gets hurt. He does that a lot.

This is a picture of the Golden Gate Bridge. Kind of orange, isn't it?

This is a picture of where Daddy works. My work is on the very top floor of the tallest tower. All I need is my Princess, and it would be just like a fairy tale.

And here's a picture of Daddy and Jim in their school uniforms. We have to wear them just like you do. Do you like your new school? What have you learned? Are you making lots of friends? I know kindergarten can be scary, but I also know you're going to do just great.

I love you, sweetheart. Be good for Mommy, okay? I'll talk to you soon.

Love,

Daddy

***

 _Dr. Leonard McCoy  
c/o Starfleet Academy  
560 Parnassus Ave, Room 794-C  
San Fransisco, CA 94143-0408_

Dear Daddy,

Hello and I love you. Connie my babysitter is helping me write this letter so you can read it because she read your letter to me and she knows words real good. I don't know how to write yet but my teacher says soon. I like my school except Alexander because he smells like bologna. Tosh is my best friend. She's from Orion and she's green. I colored my arm to be green like her but Mommy got mad so I had to wash it off. I like your uniform. Red is my favorite color except for green. When are you coming to visit? You can bring Jim with you. He's pretty. Tomorrow Connie is taking me to the store to get a teddy bear and we will put it in a box with this letter and I drew a picture for you so you can have all my hugs and kisses.

I love you, Daddy.

Jojo

Dr. McCoy - I did my best to take everything down accurately. She kissed the paper when I was done. -Connie McFarlan

***

 **Official Transmission  
Flagged: Red Alert  
Origin: Vulcan  
SD 2258.42**

 **This is a distress signal issued by [data corrupted] severe disturbance thought to be linked to [data corrupted] immediate assistance requested [message truncated]**

***

This is all a case of mistaken identity:  
Mine, yours, his, ours.  
The future has paid visit to the past  
and none of us know who we are.

You can't be who you say you are.  
I can't be who you say I am.

You believe in me.

When you touch me, you touch me because you know I'll make things right.  
You show me the tragedy, the terror, and the wrong, because  
these are the fights I win.  
I always win.  
Surprise.

You believe in me like you believe in oxygen.  
I've held your life in my hands  
And it's my face, my voice, that lends you hope.  
You had been ready to die.  
But now I'm here, and the universe has righted itself.

My god. What did I ever do to earn trust like _that_?

It takes all the strength you have not to reach for my hand as we walk.  
How do I know that?  
Your fingers matched your eyes to mine.  
Always touching, never touched.

You _believe_ in me.

The you that tries to choke the life from me,  
eyes shuttered, like yours but not who you are,  
not who I am,  
hands are familiar around my throat.

If you let me live, I'll earn it. I'll give my life to earn whatever it is you saw in me.

We felt right, together.

***

 **Recommendation of Promotion**

 **Recommended Recipient: First Officer James T. Kirk (Emergency field promotion. Previous rank: Ensign.)  
Recommending Officer: Captain Christopher Pike  
Recommended Promotion: Rank of Captain, Command of the Starship Enterprise  
Reason for Recommendation: Outstanding valor and bravery in the face of imminent danger; performance above and beyond the call of duty; proof of innovative tactical skills, ability to command, and devotion to the Starfleet credo at personal risk and in variance to personal gratification.  
Further Notes: Academic records and aptitude tests support candidate's potential for command and reflect character merit. Exemplary field performance (see FR:7364, OR:9847.2, RV:76A). Commander Spock (U.S.S. Enterprise) to provide character reference by request.**

 **  
All recommendations are subject to Starfleet Board review. Submitters may present a defense of their submission during review. Submission of recommendation does not indicate promotion. Submissions are due 30 days prior to scheduled review. All submissions must be logged with serial number, stardate, and fingerprint verification. Missing information will invalidate submission.   
**

***

Private Communication  
VtT/SCG: SD 2258.63  
Sender: Pike, Christopher  
Recipient: Spock, S. T.  
Subject:

Spock,

I'm going to submit a recommendation for Kirk as the replacement captain of the Enterprise. I understand there were some personal conflicts between the two of you, but I'd like to ask your permission to add you as a character reference. Everyone knows Vulcans don't lie, and I think your input may be crucial to getting the recommendation pushed through. Will you do it?

\- Captain Pike

*

Private Communication  
VtT/SCG: SD 2258.63  
Sender: Spock, S. T.  
Recipient: Pike, Christopher  
Subject: Re:

Captain Pike,

My personal regard for Mr. Kirk is irrelevant. His temporary command aboard the Enterprise, while irregular, produced favorable results. His conduct was initially abrasive toward me, but only during a crucial tactical moment, and proved to have the intended consequence: a strategic maneuver. During our journey back to Earth, his behavior was befitting that of an officer, and he has since apologized for his emotionally incendiary comments, which proves them to be the exception rather than the norm. I believe Mr. Kirk's character to be satisfactory, and will testify to this as needed.

Will this suffice?

\- Spock

*

Private Communication  
VtT/SCG: SD 2258.63  
Sender: Pike, Christopher  
Recipient: Spock, S. T.  
Subject: Re: Re:

He apologized? Really?

*

Private Communication  
VtT/SCG: SD 2258.63  
Sender: Spock, S. T.  
Recipient: Pike, Christopher  
Subject: Re: Re: Re:

Captain Pike,

He did apologize, although he expressed some discomfort while doing so. I have reason to suspect Dr. McCoy may have had some motivational influence in the matter. However, I have equal reason to believe the apology was sincere, and do not feel that Dr. McCoy's influence detracts from my character witness.

-Spock

*

Private Communication  
VtT/SCG: SD 2258.63  
Sender: Pike, Christopher  
Recipient: Spock, S. T.  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re:

No, no, of course not. That will do nicely, Spock, thank you. I appreciate your help.

\- Pike

[Part Two](http://the-arc5-fic.livejournal.com/11152.html#cutid1)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Enterprise is sent to deal with a situation, and one of their own is taken. But this is not where the story begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, this fic is dedicated to my talented and hard-working beta, [](http://amaberis.livejournal.com/profile)[**amaberis**](http://amaberis.livejournal.com/). None of this would have happened without her. The mistakes that remain are all mine. Secondly, a word on technicalities like stardates: I did my best, with assistance from Memory Alpha, but I also made a lot of stuff up. With stardates especially, I followed the grand TOS tradition of just stringing numbers together. As the number gets higher, more time has passed; that's about as technically accurate as I can be.

**Mission Brief  
U.S.S. Enterprise  
Issued SD 2378.24  
Starbase 273**

 **Prenda III is experiencing a global famine. Prenda has been declared in a state of Planetary Emergency, and Federation relief has been delegated. It will arrive in approximately two Standard weeks. As the nearest Federation vessel, the Enterprise is ordered to function as Federation emissaries until relief aid arrives. The Enterprise is hereby authorized to organize emergency aid institutions and perform diplomatic duties as necessary. Coordinates and cultural briefing attached.**

***

s'chn t'gai spock, commander, u.s.s. enterprise, serial number S179-276SP. s'chn t'gai spock, commander, u.s.s. enterprise, serial number S179-276SP. s'chn t'gai spock, commander, u.s.s. enterprise, serial number S179-276SP. s'chn t'gai spock, commander, u.s.s. enterprise, serial number S179-276SP. s'chn t'gai spock, commander, u.s.s. enterprise, serial number S179-276SP. s'chn t'gai spock, commander, u.s.s. enterprise, serial number S179-276SP.

***

The cultural development of Prenda III is of great interest to comparative sociologists, largely due to the unique fusion of village and global mentalities that dictate Prendite social structure. Geographically, Prenda III's land masses are separated by large rivers, but the planet has no oceans. Some historians postulate that the close proximity of early Prendite tribes to one another, as well as the early development of river navigation, contributed to development of trade routes and intertribal relations which eventually led to the global government Prenda supports in the modern day. Despite this global mentality, Prendites place heavy cultural significance on the family and the village; the planet has no major cities, but is rather supported by a network of small agricultural communities. The strange combination of globalization and almost feudalistic societal structure extends to Prenda's intergalactic relations as well. Prendites have long been aware of life beyond their own planet, and trade fairly extensively with Arcis, the sixth planet in the Lucis orbital system. Their acceptance into the Federation was more or less a diplomatic ceremony that meant little to either the Prendites or the Federation. Prendite produce is a rare and valuable commodity for vegetarian gourmets, but there Prendite influence on other Federation members ends. As for Prenda III, it officially supports the Federation's diplomatic efforts and quietly goes on with the same peaceful existence it has enjoyed for centuries, uninvolved in what those diplomatic efforts actually entail...

 _Malencon Ve'nbe  
A Brief Introduction to the Allied Planets of the Federation_

***

Will you ask strangers to care for your family? Will you willingly give your land to foreign hands? Will you put your faith in these matzkahm from the stars? This Federation feeds like a gartu, its web stretched wide between the branches of the universe, each planet a quivering morsel to its greedy maw. It claims us, then abandons us, an adopted child left outside to starve. It wants us, but to what end? Does it look after us? Does it prize our lands and rivers as we do? Does it take pride in us, as family takes pride in its children? No! The Federation demands our allegiance and rejects us in the same breath! We are of one family, and we owe no allegiance to those who would forget us!

 _Excerpt from a speech by Kahienre of Isza, Prendite activist_

***

 _George S. Kirk  
135 Boyd Ave  
Apt J  
Tulsa, OK 74101_

September 20, 2256

Dear Sam,

Seriously? Another one? What is it about Oklahoma that makes you so eager to have babies, huh? Aurelan must look like a goddess of the wheat fields or something. Tell her I said congratulations, by the way, and good luck. God only knows why she would agree to procreate with you twice. Thank goodness Kyle took after his good-looking, funny, intelligent, charming, totally bad-ass uncle. And he's got his mother's eyes. That's nice.

Really, though, I'm happy for you two. And no, that doesn't mean I'm looking to you for an example of how I should settle down. I don't know why I didn't think of Academy before; place is crawling with singles of every make and model. Met this Orion girl in one of my programming classes, gorgeous hair, legs all the way to the _ground_. I'm hoping to run into her this weekend. Sam, I can see you shaking your head at me all the way from San Francisco. Stop it. I am not, as you so elegantly dubbed me in your last missive, an _incorrigible whore_. I accept nothing for my service but mutual satisfaction, and I can't help it if there are a lot of people that need satisfying. And before you ask, yes, the Roommate Dilemma continues. Bones is my best friend, and seriously, I'm not a jackass. But I'm not blind, though I may have to stab my eyes out soon in order to keep up my resolve. He comes in _dripping_ , Sam. Man thinks towels were invented to frame his hips, I swear. I resorted to actually _reading_ my assignments for once when he came in the other day. He'd played a pickup game of football with some people from Med, and he was all grassy and sweaty, and he started shucking clothes as fast as he could. Thing was, he didn't want to get grass all over the floor, so he was being all twisty and bendy about it. I swear, it was the best striptease I've seen since you took me to that joint in Iowa for my sixteenth birthday. Anyway, so he finishes his Anal-Retentive Dance of Seduction and hits the showers, comes back dripping wet, and flings himself onto his bed utterly naked and _moaning_. I ask you, Sam: IS THIS ANY WAY TO TREAT YOUR ROOMMATE? I couldn't even jerk off until I got in the shower a solid six hours later. He does this to me, gets me all comfortable, and then lays himself out like a fucking buffet of gorgeous. And he wonders why I throw things at his head.

Studies are fine. Slept my way through Foundations of Starfleet, and no great loss there. Essentially, all hail the mighty Vulcans and their pointy eyebrows of progress. Spare me. I just skipped the day they did Tarsus. I think I'm going to join Xenolinguistics club. It's totally unrelated to my focus, but even I can tell that some of these translations they give us are shit. I caught six incorrect verb tenses in "The Ballad of Gai-tan'ee" alone. Standard issue textbooks, honestly. Hell in a handbasket, brother, hell in a handbasket.

Speaking of standard-issue failures, do I even want to know why Aurelan sent me a box of socks and underwear? I mean, I'm eternally grateful, as apparently regulation undergarments must be stitched from low-grade sandpaper, but how did she know that? In any case, my ass thanks her. Can I say that to my brother's wife? Okay, I take it back, don't discuss my ass with her. That's just creepy.

Well, I guess I'll wrap it up. There's some sort of concert Bones wants to go to. It'll probably be horrible; Bones can drink like a champ, and he hasn't once made fun of my books, but the man has absolutely no taste in music. But I can deny him nothing, especially when he gets all nonchalant and acts like he doesn't care. That's how I know he really, really wants something. You can wipe that grin off your face _right now_ , George Samuel. Just because I'm hopelessly in love with him does not mean I'm coming to live next door to you and have ungodly amounts of children. Besides, the way Bones swears, Aurelan would just die.

Oh, there's a data chip in here. NOT KID FRIENDLY, SO KEEP KYLE THE HELL AWAY FROM IT. It's actually a sim we run in one of my classes, but I got creative with one of my lit assignments and added a vague sort of storyline. Voila, brother: your very own first-person shooter. Blow up Klingons to your heart's content. See? I do love you.

I'll talk to you soon. And call whenever, you know I never sleep.

\- Jim

***

 _Joanna McCoy  
1421 N Augusta Ave  
Waycross, GA 31503_

My Jojo,

Did you get your teddy bear? Daddy sent it last week, so it should be there by now. Give him a big hug and a kiss, okay? He's a magic bear, and while you're asleep, he'll send me all your hugs and kisses, and he'll give all my hugs and kisses to you, so you never forget that Daddy loves you.

You wanted to see pictures of my new house, and here they are. This is a picture of where I live. My bed has the blue blanket. Your picture is on my shelf. The man in the picture is my friend Jim. He says to tell you hello. Jim is going to be a starship captain when he grows up. Someday, we're going to space together, so I can fix him when he gets hurt. He does that a lot.

This is a picture of the Golden Gate Bridge. Kind of orange, isn't it?

This is a picture of where Daddy works. My work is on the very top floor of the tallest tower. All I need is my Princess, and it would be just like a fairy tale.

And here's a picture of Daddy and Jim in their school uniforms. We have to wear them just like you do. Do you like your new school? What have you learned? Are you making lots of friends? I know kindergarten can be scary, but I also know you're going to do just great.

I love you, sweetheart. Be good for Mommy, okay? I'll talk to you soon.

Love,

Daddy

***

 _Dr. Leonard McCoy  
c/o Starfleet Academy  
560 Parnassus Ave, Room 794-C  
San Fransisco, CA 94143-0408_

Dear Daddy,

Hello and I love you. Connie my babysitter is helping me write this letter so you can read it because she read your letter to me and she knows words real good. I don't know how to write yet but my teacher says soon. I like my school except Alexander because he smells like bologna. Tosh is my best friend. She's from Orion and she's green. I colored my arm to be green like her but Mommy got mad so I had to wash it off. I like your uniform. Red is my favorite color except for green. When are you coming to visit? You can bring Jim with you. He's pretty. Tomorrow Connie is taking me to the store to get a teddy bear and we will put it in a box with this letter and I drew a picture for you so you can have all my hugs and kisses.

I love you, Daddy.

Jojo

Dr. McCoy - I did my best to take everything down accurately. She kissed the paper when I was done. -Connie McFarlan

***

 **Official Transmission  
Flagged: Red Alert  
Origin: Vulcan  
SD 2258.42**

 **This is a distress signal issued by [data corrupted] severe disturbance thought to be linked to [data corrupted] immediate assistance requested [message truncated]**

***

This is all a case of mistaken identity:  
Mine, yours, his, ours.  
The future has paid visit to the past  
and none of us know who we are.

You can't be who you say you are.  
I can't be who you say I am.

You believe in me.

When you touch me, you touch me because you know I'll make things right.  
You show me the tragedy, the terror, and the wrong, because  
these are the fights I win.  
I always win.  
Surprise.

You believe in me like you believe in oxygen.  
I've held your life in my hands  
And it's my face, my voice, that lends you hope.  
You had been ready to die.  
But now I'm here, and the universe has righted itself.

My god. What did I ever do to earn trust like _that_?

It takes all the strength you have not to reach for my hand as we walk.  
How do I know that?  
Your fingers matched your eyes to mine.  
Always touching, never touched.

You _believe_ in me.

The you that tries to choke the life from me,  
eyes shuttered, like yours but not who you are,  
not who I am,  
hands are familiar around my throat.

If you let me live, I'll earn it. I'll give my life to earn whatever it is you saw in me.

We felt right, together.

***

 **Recommendation of Promotion**

 **Recommended Recipient: First Officer James T. Kirk (Emergency field promotion. Previous rank: Ensign.)  
Recommending Officer: Captain Christopher Pike  
Recommended Promotion: Rank of Captain, Command of the Starship Enterprise  
Reason for Recommendation: Outstanding valor and bravery in the face of imminent danger; performance above and beyond the call of duty; proof of innovative tactical skills, ability to command, and devotion to the Starfleet credo at personal risk and in variance to personal gratification.  
Further Notes: Academic records and aptitude tests support candidate's potential for command and reflect character merit. Exemplary field performance (see FR:7364, OR:9847.2, RV:76A). Commander Spock (U.S.S. Enterprise) to provide character reference by request.**

 **  
All recommendations are subject to Starfleet Board review. Submitters may present a defense of their submission during review. Submission of recommendation does not indicate promotion. Submissions are due 30 days prior to scheduled review. All submissions must be logged with serial number, stardate, and fingerprint verification. Missing information will invalidate submission.   
**

***

Private Communication  
VtT/SCG: SD 2258.63  
Sender: Pike, Christopher  
Recipient: Spock, S. T.  
Subject:

Spock,

I'm going to submit a recommendation for Kirk as the replacement captain of the Enterprise. I understand there were some personal conflicts between the two of you, but I'd like to ask your permission to add you as a character reference. Everyone knows Vulcans don't lie, and I think your input may be crucial to getting the recommendation pushed through. Will you do it?

\- Captain Pike

*

Private Communication  
VtT/SCG: SD 2258.63  
Sender: Spock, S. T.  
Recipient: Pike, Christopher  
Subject: Re:

Captain Pike,

My personal regard for Mr. Kirk is irrelevant. His temporary command aboard the Enterprise, while irregular, produced favorable results. His conduct was initially abrasive toward me, but only during a crucial tactical moment, and proved to have the intended consequence: a strategic maneuver. During our journey back to Earth, his behavior was befitting that of an officer, and he has since apologized for his emotionally incendiary comments, which proves them to be the exception rather than the norm. I believe Mr. Kirk's character to be satisfactory, and will testify to this as needed.

Will this suffice?

\- Spock

*

Private Communication  
VtT/SCG: SD 2258.63  
Sender: Pike, Christopher  
Recipient: Spock, S. T.  
Subject: Re: Re:

He apologized? Really?

*

Private Communication  
VtT/SCG: SD 2258.63  
Sender: Spock, S. T.  
Recipient: Pike, Christopher  
Subject: Re: Re: Re:

Captain Pike,

He did apologize, although he expressed some discomfort while doing so. I have reason to suspect Dr. McCoy may have had some motivational influence in the matter. However, I have equal reason to believe the apology was sincere, and do not feel that Dr. McCoy's influence detracts from my character witness.

-Spock

*

Private Communication  
VtT/SCG: SD 2258.63  
Sender: Pike, Christopher  
Recipient: Spock, S. T.  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re:

No, no, of course not. That will do nicely, Spock, thank you. I appreciate your help.

\- Pike

[Part Two](http://the-arc5-fic.livejournal.com/11152.html#cutid1)


	3. Called You Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Enterprise is sent to deal with a situation, and one of their own is taken. But this is not where the story begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, this fic is dedicated to my talented and hard-working beta, [](http://amaberis.livejournal.com/profile)[**amaberis**](http://amaberis.livejournal.com/). None of this would have happened without her. The mistakes that remain are all mine. Secondly, a word on technicalities like stardates: I did my best, with assistance from Memory Alpha, but I also made a lot of stuff up. With stardates especially, I followed the grand TOS tradition of just stringing numbers together. As the number gets higher, more time has passed; that's about as technically accurate as I can be.

_Dr. Gerard Rowe  
Starfleet Outpatient Psychiatrist  
Assessment of Patient 34-B  
May 13, 2247  
Chicago, IL_

James Kirk displays the classic signs of post-traumatic stress disorder and clinical depression (see file). However, he has shown positive progress both in individual therapy sessions and with prescribed medication (see file). He no longer expresses thoughts of suicide, and his mother reports a decline in bedwetting and inability to sleep without a light. School counselors report that Kirk is accepted amongst his peers and appears to be quite popular. He remains on high alert for potential of self-destructive tendencies, including eating disorders and self mutilation, and should be monitored closely. I have expressed to Kirk's mother and stepfather the necessity of reaffirming familial bonds and reassurances that Kirk is not isolated; however, due to her position in Starfleet, Mrs. Thompson is unable to remain Earthside for any extended period. It is my belief that her absence will be detrimental to Kirk's recovery. I thereby request to retain Kirk's file for an additional six months, with the possibility of further extension, in order to facilitate his full recovery.

***

 _hush little baby, don't say a word_

We press close in the cellar,  
Maya, Brighton, and me.  
Brighton sucks his thumb.  
Maya hides her face in my shirt.

 _mama's gonna buy you a mocking bird_

Aunt Katherine told us to be brave.  
She said to run like hell if we were found.  
I promised to carry Brighton.  
Maya promised to hold my hand.

 _and if that mocking bird don't sing_

The food is gone. Uncle Rodney said so.  
They know why, but they can't stop it.  
Uncle Rodney says it's all madness.  
Aunt Katherine cried at the dinner table.

 _mama's gonna buy you_

I can hear them come in.  
They break open the door and  
Aunt Katherine is yelling and  
Mr. Georges says they don't have a choice.

 _hush little baby_

When the door opens, I try  
To run. Brighton is crying and Maya  
Falls down. They're too fast.  
Maya looks surprised when they shoot her.

 _hush little don't say_

The square is full of screaming people.  
"Execution, so ordered..." It gets quieter.  
If I run, they'll kill Brighton.  
They put us in a room with no windows.

 _little baby_

He likes my pretty eyes and bright mind.  
I'll do all the math problems he wants  
If Brighton can stay with me.  
I'll do whatever he wants, whatever he wants.

 _hush baby little word say don't_

Uniforms. Help. Too late.  
Brighton won't wake up.  
Give Brighton my food, he's hungry, he cries at night...  
I'll do the math problems.

 _hush a little_

Shock, they said. Genocide, they said.  
You're going home, they said.  
Aunt Katherine? I'm sorry.  
Sorry, sorry, sorry.

 _hush_

I should have died, too.

***

wake up, wake up, arms pulling me outside, twin suns burn away the cold. my eyes hurt after too long underground. i can’t see. who’s hitting me? once, twice, three times, measured punishment. someone is watching. my body makes heavy noises where they hit, like testing a ripe melon. when they hurt you beyond endurance, say your name. but vulcans can endure anything, can’t they? can’t they? they keep hitting.

my collarbone snaps. they drop me on the dirt. it’s very quiet, but i can’t keep my mouth from whistling and someone just closed a communicator. someone watched. they throw me back underground.

***

Private Communication  
ISC: SD 2279.61  
Sender: Uhura, Nyota A.  
Recipient: Kirk, James T.  
Subject: Request

Captain,

I need to speak with Jim Kirk, this jerk I met in a bar once. He's my friend, and I'm not sure how to get in contact with him. Can you help me with this?

Lt. Uhura

*

Private Communication  
ISC: SD 2279.61  
Sender: Kirk, James T.  
Recipient: Uhura, Nyota A.  
Subject: Re: Request

Nyota,

As it happens, I have the jerk right here. He says nice ass.

Seriously, though, what's going on? Whatever you need, I'm here, chain of command optional. Unless you're into that sort of thing.

Jim

*

Private Communication  
ISC: SD 2279.61  
Sender: Uhura, Nyota A.  
Recipient: Kirk, James T.  
Subject: Re: Re: Request

Jim,

I'm going to tell you something in confidence, so I need you to keep it to yourself, okay? Spock and I just broke up. I know, I know, what kind of bitch breaks up with the guy who lost his planet? Me, apparently. I feel horrible about it, but it really, really wasn't working out, and... Anyway, right or wrong, I did it, and I'm on my way to Chapel's quarters for a personal liter of wine and an ungodly amount of ice cream. I'll probably cry a lot. This is the appropriate response to a breakup, and I know that's definitely not what Spock's going to do. You two have gotten pretty close. Could you maybe check on him? You're one of the very, very few who can tell when he's being Vulcan and when he's being unhealthily repressed. I just don't want him to be alone; I know he's taking it kind of hard, whether he wants to admit it or not.

And if you're looking for him, he's probably picking a fight with McCoy. Once again, questionable methods of coping.

Thanks, Jim. I really, really appreciate this.

Nyota

*

Private Communication  
ISC: SD 2279.61  
Sender: Kirk, James T.  
Recipient: Uhura, Nyota A.  
Subject: Re: Request

Nyota,

I'm going to be serious for about ten seconds. Try not to pass out.

I'm proud of you. Really. You're right, the immediate question is what kind of bitch breaks up with the guy that lost his planet? But if it wasn't right, it wasn't right, and you shouldn't stick around because you feel obligated. I've seen relationships like that, and they don't help anybody. You did the right thing, even if it kind of feels like shit.

I'll take care of Spock for you, don't worry. We'll do the manly thing and get trashed. If I can get him to cry a little, I will, but I'm not holding out much hope. Maybe he'll raise an eyebrow of distress or something. The point is, I'll take care of it. And if you need to talk or need a hug or something, let me know, okay? I've been known to put away a mean gallon of Chunky Monkey in my time. For now, I'll just go break up the Enterprise's premiere debate team, also known as the Raise the CMO's Blood Pressure game. A few rounds of chess and a little chocolate milk (the guy loses his head over chocolate milk. There. Is. Something. Wrong. With. This.) and Spock'll be fine. Trust me.

Jim

***

You should have known.

Jim falls to a challenge like a moth to light, and this, this...

It doesn't help that deep down, they really are perfect for each other. Spock is utterly unshakable until it comes to Jim; Jim uses Spock like an anchor, a focusing lens for his scattered and powerful energy. They clashed first, Jim shouting in Spock's face, Spock crushing Jim into a console, but the second Spock strode onto the bridge and stood one step to the right of the captain's chair like he just _belonged_ there, it had clicked. It's a working relationship made in heaven: Spock's dry monotone spouting facts while Jim's outrageous imagination turns them into something useful. On missions, they act as extensions of each other, smooth diplomatic segues or synchronized punches, whatever the situation requires. But the second Spock had settled across the table from Jim, crooking an eyebrow at his expansive hand gestures and commenting that such an experiment would certainly cause an explosion in the labs, you should have known. Because Jim had laughed and said, "Yeah, you're probably right," and stolen a bite of fruit from Spock's tray, and suddenly it wasn't a working relationship any more. It's chess games on Tuesday nights, sparring on Fridays, drinking and conscientiously not-drinking in between. It's Jim pacing a groove in the sickbay floor, telling Spock that he's a fucking _idiot_ , and thanks for saving his life. It's Spock leaning just a little too close to Jim's ear on the bridge, low, quick suggestions that Jim listens to. It's the soft exhale that Spock lets out when Jim beams back safely and the edge of fear in Jim's voice when Spock's communicator cuts out. It's the constant verbal by-play, humor as only a Vulcan can do it, Jim pushing, pushing, pushing just a little human out each time.

They haven't slept together yet, which just makes it worse. You know Jim like you know nothing else, and dammit if he doesn't burn through sexual partners like they were birthday candles. You know the pattern, and it never varies, except this time it has, and there's no turning back now. This isn't someone you can ignore until they go away; Jim has found someone for real, and you should have seen it coming.

You should have known that the person Jim would fall in love with would be the polar opposite of you.

***

I'm winning.

Not this game, because  
in three moves, you're going  
to have me...there.  
Checkmate.

But I still win.  
You survey the board  
like an ancient conqueror,  
and when I tease you,  
you don't laugh.

Still, that little quirk  
at the edge of your mouth,  
the tilt of your eyebrow,  
the steady sweep of your hands  
as they re-set the board...

I win.

***

 _Personal Document  
SD 2312.32  
McCoy, Leonard H._

 ~~Captain  
Jim  
Dear~~

Jim -

My ex-wife would say this is the coward's way out, and I guess she'd be right. The truth is, I don't know of any other way to say what I need to say. I know I'd never get through it if I tried to do it to your face. You're my weakness, kid. Some people have drugs, some people have the bottle...I've got you. You could ask me to go straight to hell with that smile of yours, and by god, I'd do it.

I love you, see. I have for a long time. When we were living together, and you'd bring some sweet young thing back to our room and hang your goddamn boxers on the handle... God, Jim, I never said a word, but I always wished you'd throw whoever it was out on their ass and take me instead. It wasn't about the sex...at least, it wasn't _all_ about the sex. It was you, and your fucking devil-may-care attitude, and the way you can't keep your clothes off the floor for anything, and the way you always look twice in the mirror, and I know it's not because you're checking your damn hair. It's because you're always just a little bit unsure, and I wanted more than anything to be able to wrap my arms around you and tell you that you may be a jackass, but you're _my_ jackass, and I think you're perfect just as you are. I wanted you to need me like I need you, and I need you so much it's actually kind of pathetic.

Damn it, I'm getting all sentimental. You're going to call me a girl, and I deserve it. Fuck it, though, it's true. I love you, Jim. It's as plain as that.

And I know I shouldn't have slept with you. You were drunk, and I know you haven't gotten laid since we shipped out, which is a record you probably haven't topped since you lost your virginity, I'd bet. ~~I did it because~~ I did it because I've wanted you so damn long, and I knew it would most likely be the last chance I'd ever get. It's only a matter of time before you and the hobgoblin start having unholy carnal relations on every deck, and I wish you both all the best. He may be a green-blooded, stuck-up son of a bitch with no sense of humor to speak of, but the way he loves you is downright humbling. I think he'd damn near tear the universe apart for you. I don't exactly know how you two went from almost killing each other to those foreplay sessions you call chess matches, but I do know that all of that single-minded genius he puts into everything he does is focused on you, James Tiberius Kirk. He's going to love you like you deserve to be loved. And you do deserve it, Jim. You deserve somebody who will love you no matter what. You deserve more than a few hours between the sheets or the approval of some institution. He's going to love you for all those stupid reasons I do, and that's exactly what you need.

I'm not saying all this so you'll feel sorry for me, or guilty that we slept together. One-night stand or not, I liked it. I just want you to understand the reason ~~we can't be fr~~ why our relationship has to change. I'm still your CMO, and I'll have your back until the day I die. Just think of me as any other member of your crew. Treat Spock well, Jim. I'm serious about him. He's a good man, even if he doesn't keep his heart in the right place.

 ~~Love  
Yours  
Sincerely~~

 ~~Leonard  
Bones~~

-Dr. McCoy  
 _[document deleted and purged]_

***

I remember this:  
my arm slung over your shoulders,  
your body tucked close to mine,  
holding me up, pulling me forward.  
We go to your room, like we used to.

I remember laughing too loud,  
you not laughing loud enough  
when I told you sometimes I hated my stripes.  
Pull the shirt off, rumple it properly, kick at it.  
Maybe I fell on your bed.

I remember the sudden whiskey burn of  
your tongue in my mouth, the color of the fingerprints  
you left on my hands, my chest, my hips,  
like you wanted to wrap me up in you, melt us  
together with only whispers, "oh god," and "please," and "Jim."

I remember the shape of your forehead  
in the crook of my neck, pressed tight there while you  
didn't scream, just quietly fell apart so I could feel you  
shaking; your little tremors shook me to pieces, so  
you tucked me against you and kissed me together again.

I remember all the reasons this was a bad idea  
and all the reasons I didn't care.  
None of it seemed important  
with you asleep beside me and everything hazy soft  
on the edges. The have-to and want-to and can't and don'ts  
waited very politely until morning, no regrets in the nighttime.

I don't remember what I said in between.  
Something I did, something I intended,  
something broke between sleep and morning,  
because I woke up and you were gone,  
and you won't let me find you again.

I can't remember how this goes;  
I don't have memories to tell me. I tried  
to come to you, to tell you how many times  
I'd imagined it, and now I had something to remember,  
instead, and thank you and again and maybe I love you.

I remember what you sound like, though; not like this.  
A stranger with your name frozen mid-step in the corridor,  
like "Bones" was a gun gone off wrong.  
"It's Dr. McCoy, Captain."  
He kept walking, and you weren't there to hold me up.

I don't remember what happens next.

***

Nyota steeples her fingers and looks at me. I recognize the expression as the one she reserves for teaching; more accurately, it is the expression she reserves for teaching those who are slow to grasp a concept. I endeavor to appear fascinated by my salad.

“It won’t work,” she says. “I know you too well.”

“I do not know to what you are referring,” I answer.

“A brave attempt, Mr. Spock, but a failure nonetheless,” she says, and laughs. “Spinach has never been, nor will it ever be, that interesting.”

“I recently received a message from my father,” I say. Despite the end of our romantic involvement, Nyota is always attentive when I mention my father. She says she respects the ambassador; I have told her that I am not threatened by the fact she finds my father handsome. _(‘Oh my god,’ she squealed, cupping her face in her hands. ‘You didn’t. Oh, you didn’t. Oh my god.’ I brushed my fingers over the lyre while she laughed. ‘Just you wait, Spock. One day, we will meet someone that you will be horribly, inappropriately attracted to, and I will **never let you forget it**.’ her words were threatening, but she laughed, and asked to hear the song about counting sand grains. I understood then that I had lost a lover, but retained a friend; one was much more difficult to keep than the other, and I treasured her determination to not isolate me entirely. I had been lonely, without her laughter.)_

She ignores me. “It occurs to me that you have never been taught how to pull pigtails.”

“What do you mean? Such a pastime is…”

“Necessary to your continued functionality and vital to your ongoing education. I will demonstrate.” She reaches across the table and deliberately cuffs the back of my head. The gesture is not painful, but it is surprising; Nyota has never, ever struck me. I curb my reaction to a mere widening of the eyes, but my eyebrow lifts involuntarily when she sticks out her tongue at me.

“Now,” she says conversationally, “describe to me what just happened, and my motivations for my actions.”

“You…slapped me,” I answer hesitantly. “You seemed to derive pleasure in an action intended to cause me pain.”

“So it would seem,” she says with a nod. and then she tweaks the tip of one of my ears.

“Nyota!” I reprimand. “this behavior…”

“Is pigtail pulling,” she says triumphantly. “One of the more physical manifestations of it, but pigtail pulling nonetheless.”

“Porcine appendages are not involved,” I say stiffly. She sighs. I am not being a good student.

“It’s a phrase appropriated to obnoxious behavior utilized as a courtship ritual among humans.”

“Such behavior is a courtship ritual?”

“Not a formal one, but yes. It is common, especially amongst human males, for one party to antagonize the other through teasing, mild physical abuse, and insults as an expression of attraction.”

“That is most illogical.”

“Tell me about it. But it happens. And I don’t think you recognize it for what it is.”

“I assure you, I have experienced nothing resembling this phenomenon.”

“Oh, really?”

“Hikaru, give it _back_!” Ensign Chekov runs through the rec hall, ostensibly chasing Lieutenant Sulu, who is holding a PADD above his head and laughing.

“Nothing personally,” I amend.

“I would pay closer attention, if I were you,” she whispers in my ear, and she is gone, casually rescuing Ensign Chekov’s PADD and trading barbs with Lieutenant Sulu as she leaves the room.

***

To know is to love,  
and to know impossible.  
You knew me, once,  
before time turned inside out.  
Now we are both ignorant and blind,  
and love, like justice, moves  
slow and uncertain.  
Destiny be damned.

You become my firmament.  
I resent your gravity but  
the comets and constellations  
desire it. We are not one  
without the other.  
Your blood has spilled  
with mine. Our hands are taught  
the shapes of our fingers  
as lifelines, sure in uncertainty.  
Steel to flint we spark  
understanding. It hurts  
because we know how  
to speak words unspoken.  
Black to white we trade  
animosity with amiability.  
We are the same, somewhere  
beneath, or different enough  
to fit together, smooth.

I want the river depth of you,  
the unchanging earth-eyes,  
memories of grass in your skin.  
What changes is not what love is,  
but what love means: to  
grow slow and steady and  
surprise me with nearness  
when you say my name,  
something I knew but  
never loved until you did.

***

they want me to be alone. they want me to forget. they want me to believe no one will come for me. they do not know my jim.

***

 **Medical Report  
Logged SD 2378.43  
CMO Leonard H. McCoy attending  
Patient: Spock, S. T.**

 **During a diplomatic mission to Prenda III, Commander Spock was taken hostage by a militant political faction. The faction subsequently transmitted footage of their deliberate abuse of Spock with the express intention of creating diplomatic tension and the expression of animosity toward the Federation. Spock's injuries correlate with circumstances of imprisonment and torture. He sustained multiple minor lacerations and abrasions consistent with shackling and inadequate shelter. These were treated with the application of the dermal regenerator and cell stimulus gel where applicable. Further injuries include fractured clavicle, distal radius fracture (right), distal ulna fracture (left), multiple fractures of the metacarpals and phalanges (right and left), and multiple rib fractures. The pattern of fractures and extensive bruising indicate blunt force trauma as the cause of the injuries. Spock also sustained a mild concussion. Due to the conditions of Spock's detainment, he also suffered from sleep deprivation, mild malnutrition and dehydration. Spock is to be confined to sickbay at CMO discretion until the fractures can be adequately treated and nutritional balance can be restored. Note of possible psychological aftereffects have been logged in Spock's personal file, and he is to remain on watchlist for a period of no less than 21 standard days. Visitation hours are to be limited to 4 per 24-hour period.**

[Part Four](http://the-arc5-fic.livejournal.com/11536.html#cutid1)


	4. Called You Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Enterprise is sent to deal with a situation, and one of their own is taken. But this is not where the story begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, this fic is dedicated to my talented and hard-working beta, [](http://amaberis.livejournal.com/profile)[**amaberis**](http://amaberis.livejournal.com/). None of this would have happened without her. The mistakes that remain are all mine. Secondly, a word on technicalities like stardates: I did my best, with assistance from Memory Alpha, but I also made a lot of stuff up. With stardates especially, I followed the grand TOS tradition of just stringing numbers together. As the number gets higher, more time has passed; that's about as technically accurate as I can be.

  
You unravel like this:

He’s the second to last person in all of creation you want to see right now. Especially now, when you’ve just tucked into a bottle of Jack that won’t make your problems go away, but will let you sleep without dreaming about the glorious blaze the most significant relationship in your life has just gone up in. He comes in after a cursory warning, ignoring the fact you yell at him to go away. Bastard.

But you can't bear to watch someone in pain, and if there was ever pain, it stands before you now. He stands at perfect attention, his head high and his eyes inscrutable, and you know beyond a shadow of a doubt he’s just dying inside. Why, you don’t know, but misery loves company, or so they say.

“Want one?”

You tilt your head toward the bottle, and he blinks.

“No.”

Of course not. “What can I do for you?”

“You have to stop this,” he says, and you toss back a shot in defiance.

“What, and let this fine example of toxicity go to waste? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You can see the razor-thin hitch of his shoulders. He hates it when you won’t take him seriously; he doesn’t know that you do, really, most of the time. Green-blooded hobgoblin is the most reasonable person on the ship, even if he’s a little cold about it. ‘Course, he’s not cold all the time, which is why you’re here to begin with, isn’t it? Brilliant mind, unerring loyalty, and real, deep feelings beneath all that Vulcan stoicism: tie it up in a green bow, and it’s merry Christmas to you, Jim. With this spit-polished example of Starfleet superiority in front of you, why would you take a grouchy old country doctor? Given the choice, even you’d pick Spock.

You pour another drink.

“I didn’t mean the drinking, although I have my doubts as to its benefits to you,” Spock says stiffly. “I meant you must stop emotionally antagonizing Jim.”

“Emotionally antagonizing?” you bark, a little too loud. “What the hell would you know about emotional _anything_?”

There it is, like a wire running through his clothes. Whoever said he couldn’t stand up straighter was wrong.

“He is in love with you,” he says sharply. It’s a fact, in that voice, just like his calculations and reports on the bridge. “You have abandoned him unnecessarily, and it has caused him pain. I am here to discover the cause of your abandonment and to urge you to return to Jim as quickly as possible in order to alleviate this pain.”

“Well, now, you’re just confused,” you say. You can feel the Southern accent rise in your voice, just like Dad’s when he had to give bad news. “It’s not me he’s in love with. He may be a little ruffled I’m not hanging around much lately, but it’s for his own good. I’m outta the way, Spock. Have at ‘im.”

“I do not understand your meaning.”

Like hell he doesn’t. “I’m not your romantic rival. Go get your man.”

“I assure you, Doctor, there is no rivalry. The captain’s reaction to your absence clearly expresses his preference for you, and my attempts at comfort are inadequate. He needs and desires you, and if the only reason for this separation is your perception of a romantic attachment between the captain and myself, I can easily put your mind to rest. There is no such attachment. Will you go to him?”

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” you scoff. “A blind man could see how much he loves you. He calls you first, he looks to you first, he asks you first... You're his anchor around here. He needs you like he needs his right arm, and the way he looks at you… God, you can’t have missed _that_.”

“He loves you,” he says again, but less certainly. It occurs to you, peripherally, that you’re as good at calling Spock’s bluff now as you are at calling Jim’s. You know him, accidentally, and you're not sure what you’re supposed to do with the knowledge. All you know for sure is that he’s hurting, and you have to try to fix him, whether he wants to be fixed or not.

“Spock,” you say, trying to curb your own bitterness. “Listen. Maybe he’s upset with me right now, but it’s just because we’ve been friends for so long. He doesn’t want that to change, as much as it was bound to, eventually. He’ll get over it. But he _is_ in love with you, I guarantee it, and you’d be a fool to give that up.”

Without thinking, you lay a hand on his shoulder, and he mirrors the gesture, the tips of two fingers brushing the skin of your neck. He studies you, gaze impenetrable as ever, as the silence stretches between you. It's strange...he usually shies away from touch. Touch telepaths are sensitive like that, they don't...

They don't touch on accident.

You jerk away, suddenly terrified. "What the hell are you doing?"

He folds his hands behind his back and drops his gaze. He doesn't try to dodge the question, either. "I was trying to understand. It wasn’t a meld, I just wanted to understand how you…”

“I didn’t say you could do that!”

“You’re right,” he says, bowing his head. “It was rash and invasive of me. I apologize.”

“What do you care what I feel like, anyway?” you shout. You’re not quite sure what you’re afraid of, but the thought of someone else poking around in your head, grabbing at your feelings… Why does Spock look like you’ve slapped him?

“Why do you always assume I have no interest in the well-being of others?” he asks quietly. Hurt.

“I’m just being an emotional human, there’s no need for you to…”

“You _hurt_ ,” he interrupts. “Your feelings are in turmoil. You believe yourself to be doing the best thing for Jim, but it is immensely painful to you. You resent me because you believe Jim loves me more than he loves you. But you will still give him to me, because you…you truly believe I am the better man. You think…”

“Don’t presume to tell me what I think,” I snap at him. “You’re just a…a…”

“Green-blooded hobgoblin?” he suggests. It’s so much like your usual arguments, you almost laugh. But there’s something drifting just below the surface here that you can’t identify, something that keeps you from cracking a smile. Maybe it’s that little quirk at the corner of Spock’s mouth, or the fact he actually just made a joke with you, or some vague, unsubstantiated feeling that Spock knows just as well as you do how it is to feel like you just don’t measure up to the task at hand. Jim has always been the star you couldn’t reach, bright and beautiful and way, way out of your league. All the past week has done is confirm what you knew already.

Spock’s out of your league, too, but he seems to have a soft spot for lost causes, because he doesn’t throw you through a wall when you yank him forward by the front of his uniform and kiss him.

It doesn’t last long, but it’s enough to leave his taste, faint and sweet, on the tip of your tongue when you pull back. He looks at you, and you can see all of his emotions right there, painted clear as day in his eyes. He may be green-blooded and pointy-eared and as logical as the Devil himself, but his eyes are human, and they don’t hide a damn thing.

Shit. What began as one thing has turned into something else and you're so lost you can't remember where you began. He’s just as lost as you are, and knowing that is suddenly too much for you to handle.

So you do what you're good at:

You turn tail and run.

***

Private Communication  
ISC: SD 2312.21  
Sender: Spock, S. T.  
Recipient: McCoy, Leonard H.  
Subject: Request

Dr. McCoy,

I would like to extend an invitation for you to dine with me tomorrow evening, 1900h, in my quarters.

Spock

*

Private Communication  
ISC: SD 2312.21  
Sender: McCoy, Leonard H.  
Recipient: Spock, S. T.  
Subject: Re: Request

Thanks, but no thanks.

-McCoy

*

Private Communication  
ISC: SD 2312.21  
Sender: Spock, S. T.  
Recipient: McCoy, Leonard H.  
Subject: Re: Re: Request

Dr. McCoy,

If you are concerned about the cuisine, I assure you, I am well aware of your aversion to certain Vulcan dishes, and they will not be served. I have also taken the liberty of procuring alcoholic beverages that I believe will be to your liking. I ask that you reconsider your refusal based on this information.

Spock

*

Private Communication  
ISC: SD 2312.21  
Sender: McCoy, Leonard H.  
Recipient: Spock, S. T.  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Request

Spock,

You got booze, huh? Tempting, but answer stands.

-McCoy

*

Private Communication  
ISC: SD 2312.21  
Sender: Spock, S. T.  
Recipient: McCoy, Leonard H.  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Request

Leonard,

I would like to have a private discussion with you, and you have been avoiding me. The dinner invitation was intended to facilitate that conversation.

Spock

*

Private Communication  
ISC: SD 2312.21  
Sender: McCoy, Leonard H.  
Recipient: Spock, S. T.  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Request

Spock,

I know damn well what the invitation was for.

-L.

*

Private Communication  
ISC: SD 2312.21  
Sender: Spock, S. T.  
Recipient: McCoy, Leonard H.  
Subject: Re/...: Request

Leonard,

Why will you not speak with me?

Spock

*

Private Communication  
ISC: SD 2312.21  
Sender: McCoy, Leonard H.  
Recipient: Spock, S. T.  
Subject: Please

Please, Spock. Just forget it ever happened.

-L.

*

Private Communication  
ISC: SD 2312.21  
Sender: Spock, S. T.  
Recipient: McCoy, Leonard H.  
Subject: Re: Please

I do not wish to "forget it ever happened."

Spock

*

Private Communication  
ISC: SD 2312.21  
Sender: McCoy, Leonard H.  
Recipient: Spock, S. T.  
Subject:

You just love making things difficult, don't you? Fine. I'll come to dinner. The booze had better be good.

-L.

*

Private Communication  
ISC: SD 2312.21  
Sender: Spock, S. T.  
Recipient: McCoy, Leonard H.  
Subject: Re:

I will expect you. Thank you.

Spock

*

Private Communication  
ISC: SD 2312.21  
Sender: Spock, S. T.  
Recipient: Scott, Montgomery J.  
Subject: Procurement of Alcohol

  
Mr. Scott,

I am hosting a dinner and my companion is fond of alcoholic beverages. I understand that you have means of procuring such beverages. Might we arrange a transaction in this regard? Furthermore, would you have suggestions on the appropriate variety of alcohol to serve? I confess my knowledge on the subject is limited.

Mr. Spock

*

Private Communication  
ISC: SD 2312.21  
Sender: Scott, Montgomery J.  
Recipient: Spock, S. T.  
Subject: Re: Procurement of Alcohol

Mr Spock,

I would be delighted to help you, sir, and I can get you pretty much anything you need. As for recommendations, that depends on the food. Or were you looking for something a bit stronger for afters?

Scotty

*

Private Communication  
ISC: SD 2312.21  
Sender: Spock, S. T.  
Recipient: Scott, Montgomery J.  
Subject: Re: Re: Procurement of Alcohol

Mr. Scott,

I believe 'something stronger,' as you put it, would be more appropriate.

Spock

*

Private Communication  
ISC: SD 2312.21  
Sender: Scott, Montgomery J.  
Recipient: Spock, S. T.  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Procurement of Alcohol

Mr. Spock,

I think I have just the thing. I'll deliver it to your quarters at 1900, if that's agreeable to you.

Scotty

*

Private Communication  
ISC: SD 2312.21  
Sender: Spock, S. T.  
Recipient: Scott, Montgomery J.  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Procurement of Alcohol

Mr. Scott,

That would be acceptable. Thank you.

Spock

*

I adjust the plates on the table for the fifth time, and mentally chastise myself for fidgeting. My unease may be warranted, given the incident of three days ago, but there is no cause for such a blatant display of feeling. I must order my thoughts and be more vigilant with my actions.

He is three minutes late. When he enters my quarters, he crosses his arms and stands near the door, a textbook illustration of defensive human body language.

"You don't have to do this," he says, gesturing with his head toward the table where the food and beverages are arranged. "Just say what you need to say, and I'll go."

Perhaps it was selfish, but I had hoped that the doctor...Leonard...would partake of the alcohol before we attempted discussion. I had thought it would make him less defensive; right now, he looks as if he expects me to violently attack him at any moment.

"I did invite you to dinner," I try, and he scoffs. It is a familiar sound of disagreement, and despite myself, I feel some of my unease evaporate at the sound.

"You lured me here with promises of alcohol," he grumbles.

"I assure you, my intentions..."

"Were to get us to talk. Don't try to be coy, it doesn't suit you. Right, okay, I guess I'll start then. I owe you an apology. I’m sorry I jumped you like that. Won’t happen again. And what I said about you and Jim, I meant, and still mean. Okay, good talk, I’ll just be going now.”

I reach out to stop him, and he flinches at my touch. I hurriedly remove my hand from his arm. “Will you allow me to apologize as well?”

He scowls. “Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I violated your privacy. It was inexcusable.”

“I excuse it.”

“You are still angry, and will not speak with me. This suggests that you are not as sanguine as you seem,” I point out. He sighs heavily.

“Why’d you have to do a thing like that?” he asks, sounding tired.

“Doctor.” I correct myself. “Leonard.”

He stares at me, startled. I have never used his first name aloud before, and to be truthful, I have rarely heard anyone else use it, either. However, it does serve to catch his full attention.

“I was never my intention to frighten you. Your emotions were very strong, and I wanted to understand them.”

“You poked around in my head,” he says.

“That is untrue,” I protest. “Skin contact made your emotions more apparent, but I did not ‘poke around in your head.’”

“Those things you said…” he begins, and I interrupt.

“I surmised those things because I know you, not because I saw them in your mind.” The words are unconsidered, but once spoken, I recognize their truth. I also recognize how unnerved I was to see the doctor in so much pain, and how much I wanted to alleviate it. I have been well aware of my gradual growth of affection for Jim but this is…unexpected.

Pigtail pulling, Nyota said. Jim calls us the premiere debate team. Our arguments serve no purpose and are frequently emotionally explosive, at least on his part, and yet I continue to provoke them. I make deductions quickly, but Leonard has been silent far too long. He sits, picks up an empty glass from the table, and twists it in his hands, careful to avoid my gaze.

“I don’t know what to do here,” he says. “You’re the logical one. What do you do when you’re in love with your best friend and he’s in love with this guy that you hate, except it turns out you don’t hate him after all?”

“You kissed me.”

“I did. And here’s the kicker—I wouldn’t mind doing it again. I’m going crazy, aren’t I?”

“Was I that inept?”

“Stop joking. It freaks me out.”

“I was not joking.”

“Oh.” The glass rotates spasmodically between his palms. “You hate it, don't you? The…the hobgoblin stuff.”

I decide not to inform him about my emotional states and how they are affected. “Why would you assume that?”

“I…” The glass twirls slower. He studies it carefully. “I guess… Hell, Spock. They way you were talkin’, it just made me think. Sounded like nobody got around to telling you that you’re kind of what one might call exemplary. And I don’t mean your work, I mean you. There’s…well, you’re just a good man, that’s all. You deserve something good, something like Jim. And it seemed like maybe you didn’t believe that all the way. I figure maybe I haven’t exactly helped.”

I cautiously sit in the chair next to his. "It is my hypothesis that your frequent insults and belligerent attitude belie the depth of your affection for others," I tell him. "I have observed that you often call Jim a number of derogatory names, and yet your willingness to sacrifice your own happiness for his sake evidences your love for him. And while I see no logical reason to call me a 'hobgoblin', I have long since accepted your jests as a testament to your acceptance of me. I sincerely believe no one else on the crew would claim enough intimacy with me to insult me so."

He releases a shuddering exhalation and stills the glass. “You mean that?”

“Of course. Leonard?”

“Yeah?”

“You deserve something good, as well. You are a good man.”

He makes a dismissive noise in the back of his throat. I reach out and grasp the glass, bringing our fingers close enough to kiss.

“You are.”

“Just…just don’t, Spock.”

"You save us," I say. He still will not meet my eyes. "We come to you hurt and bleeding, and you save us. You forget sleep and food and the limitations of medicine to save us, one by one."

He shakes his head. “That doesn’t make me a good man.”

“There is really no other way to make you understand, is there?” I ask, then stand, pulling him up, our fingers sliding together in a kiss. The glass falls, unheeded. I press my mouth to his, the human way, trying to give him what he needs. He is so frightened, irrationally convinced that somehow, he will cause pain. I do not understand why this fear is so eminent, only that it is, overwhelmingly so. I pull back and wrap my arm around his waist, impressing my strength and presence on him with the motion.

"Leonard McCoy," I say. It will be difficult to call him Doctor, after this. "You bear a respect and gratitude for sentient life that, in my experience, is unrivaled; death of any kind causes you pain. You are illogical and often ridiculous in your assumptions. You have a questionable taste in beverages. You are proficient at poker. You are less proficient at reasonable debate, but you are very tenacious. You are unselfish, unreasonable, intelligent, passionate, beautiful, loyal, gentle, strong. This is what makes you a good man, and you may believe me when I say that you do deserve something good. You deserve to be loved just as you love.”

He groans and fists his hand in my shirt, roughly fitting our lips together again, as if my words will mean more this way. Perhaps they do. I return his embrace and guide him toward my bed. He needs me. He needs me to show him with my fingers and tongue and body that what I say is true. He needs the truth of my words without the capriciousness of speech.

He needs me, and I will not disappoint him.

[Part Five](http://the-arc5-fic.livejournal.com/11818.html#cutid1)


	5. Called You Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Enterprise is sent to deal with a situation, and one of their own is taken. But this is not where the story begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, this fic is dedicated to my talented and hard-working beta, [](http://amaberis.livejournal.com/profile)[**amaberis**](http://amaberis.livejournal.com/). None of this would have happened without her. The mistakes that remain are all mine. Secondly, a word on technicalities like stardates: I did my best, with assistance from Memory Alpha, but I also made a lot of stuff up. With stardates especially, I followed the grand TOS tradition of just stringing numbers together. As the number gets higher, more time has passed; that's about as technically accurate as I can be.

a dream: mother makes the hot rocks red, blow gentle, do not touch. but red rocks are different from black, little flames at the edge of the bowl, different, i want to touch just a little. cold fingers scream red dust, please, mother! sorry, help, hurts.

they broke my fingers. mother is dead. jim overlooks the coal burner because he thinks it makes me happy. leonard knows that tea made by fire is better. mother is dead. they broke my fingers. the burning felt better.

it must be dark because i’m underground. they are too poor for proper dungeons but the dirt is drier than rock. fire would work or my shoulders but my hands are broken like lyre strings. my mouth whistles, probably because i’m half-human. stonn wouldn’t whistle, even to call a sehlat. i-chaya died, too, didn’t she? but not with mother. she died when i missed her hand. i didn’t mean to; i was atoms, and my hands are broken.

the last time they hit my head too hard. i can’t think. i can’t get up to look at my cell again, either. my hands hurt so much. i wish leonard would shout at me, because then i would know that i will be better. i need leonard to stop the whistling and fix my hands and bring a light. i don’t want to sleep here. i want to sleep on jim’s shoulder. i want to hear leonard snore. he holds my hand when we sleep because he is a romantic and he feels safe on my fingertips. it hurts to breathe and my head feels heavy. the dirt is dry, at least. jim will come soon. he always does.

***

Maybe it goes like this:

You wait while Spock makes his move. It doesn’t take long. If Spock hadn’t, Jim would have, and nobody else notices, but you can pinpoint to the day when they fall from friends to lovers. Jim perks up, and you cautiously talk to him again. He doesn’t mention the night you spent together, and things go more or less back to normal.

Except you know what’s going on behind closed doors, and you know that Jim hasn’t slept in his room for three months. And one day, Spock walks into sickbay and takes your hand, and you know exactly what he wants.

It’s weird, for a minute, you nervous and Jim nervous but trying to hide it. But Spock still tastes a little sweet, almost burning your tongue, and then Jim presses against your back, murmuring, “Bones, Bones,” and being caught between them is the best kind of torture. The best part isn’t pushing hard into Jim’s body, telling him how much you’ve missed him with every jerk of your hips; the best part isn’t sucking Spock’s fingers, watching his eyes flutter shut and his mouth fall slack; the best part isn’t how you feel, after, lying in a sweat-slick tumble, too overwhelmed to move. The best part is in the morning, thirty seconds before you step out the door, Jim’s arms wrapped around you from behind.

“See you tonight?” he says, quiet and a little uncertain.

“Please,” Spock adds, looking up from his socks.

“Yes,” you say, and wonder what you did to earn any of it.

*

Maybe it goes like this:

You swallow some of the bourbon from Spock’s recently acquired stash, he kisses you for luck (which he assures you he doesn’t believe in), and you go to talk to Jim. At first he’s mad at you for leaving him like that. You swallow your pride and tell him you didn’t want to be the one left, which makes him madder. Like he would ever leave you.

It takes a minute for you to really believe him, and then you pin him to the wall and kiss him until he isn’t mad any more.

You come together as naturally as breathing, and you wonder why you didn’t do this before. Jim is still Jim, which means he still pisses you off on a daily basis and flirts with anything that moves, but then he comes off shift and winds himself around you, doing beautiful, beautiful things with his teeth and tongue and hands. He’s still your best friend, so he hauls out the bottle when you lose an ensign on the table, and you sit with him all night on the observation deck after a mission gone wrong, staring at him instead of the stars.

It’s amazing, and you’ve never felt so lucky. Sometimes, you catch Spock's eye, across the bridge or across the table or across the hall, always alone...and it’s unfair how lucky you are. You're more grateful than you can say for this chance, these three months of Jim all to yourself, but the space he's given the two of you makes you all the more aware of the relationship with Spock you didn't know you had, didn't know you wanted.

So you sit Jim down one night and talk about Spock. It’s ironic, that the first time you tell Jim that you love him, out loud, is also the first time you ask what he thinks about sharing. Jim is Jim, so it doesn’t take much convincing, and it’s not like he’s stopped playing chess or trusting Spock with his life since you’ve been together.

In the end, sharing isn’t the word for it. It’s a breathless tangle of arms, legs, and heartbeats, kisses with mouths and kisses with fingers, and for a minute, you all share the same breath, the same blood. Jim falls asleep in the middle, and you reach over to tug Spock’s fingers to your face.

It isn’t a full-fledged meld, but you know he can feel you, hear you. I trust you, you tell him. It’s the most real forgiveness you can offer, the most reassurance that this is real, you’re together, and you’re not about to let either of them go. He drops his hand, laces his fingers with yours, and lays your joined hands over Jim’s hip. When you wake up, you’re still holding hands. Jim grumbles that Spock is too hot, you tell him he’s an infant, and it feels like this is the way mornings were meant to be.

*

Maybe it goes like this:

You watch Spock ease into Jim, barely breathing, like it’s a holy ritual he’s been chosen to enact. You give him this, because you know how that devotion feels. Then Jim’s hand flies out to catch yours, and you hold on until Jim screams and Spock sinks, boneless, onto Jim’s chest and you come, untouched, into the sheets. When Spock rolls off, Jim flips to his belly, taking in the sight of you with the biggest grin you’ve ever seen plastered across his face.

“Both of you,” he breathes, and laughs like he’s just been handed a galaxy of his very own. He flings an arm over you and Spock at once, which sends him face first into the pillows, but he laughs again.

“Like I could ever choose,” he raises his face to say, and collapses forward.

You’ve never been so glad that Jim is always up for just about anything.

*

When you wake up, arm asleep and too hot, sheets twisted and Jim face down in the pillows, Spock holding tight to your hand, it doesn’t matter how it happened, exactly. You’re just happy it did.

***

Faded dreams rest easy  
tucked in the corners of your eyes  
soft over your cheeks as you  
press closer to my side,  
leeching warmth from my skin.

Across my hips, fingers lace,  
yours and his together.  
You never let go, even in sleep;  
you both hold tight, both wrap around me,  
keeping us all safe in the dark.

Over our shoulders the cool  
of waking taunts us, but  
we know better. Tangled legs  
and elbows and sheets keep us  
warm enough to sleep, to rest,  
to disregard those few inches between  
the slow cradle of sleep  
and the morning we have to run in.

If I can pull us just a little closer,  
wrap up fingers and toes  
and chins and lips and knees,  
twine you round about with me,  
we'll stay almost asleep  
unsure of where our skin separates  
and sharing enough to not care.

Shift just a little, protest hitching in his throat  
and hide from the day against my neck.  
I will take shelter between you, your  
fingers curling reassurances, shhh,  
sleep, it's not morning  
yet.

***

 **Visitor's Log  
Patient: Spock, S. T.  
Visitors: none **

***

You settle back in your chair, the file cold, white, and clinical on your viewscreen. There are cross-references and debates, historical analyses and media reports, a celebrity trial and a hotly disputed sentencing…so much information for an accident, a file you pulled up simply because it was similar to the crisis you just weathered. But now that it’s in front of you, all you really care about is the brief, almost trivial mention of the survivor’s names. You care because one of those names is as familiar as your own, and so much of the past two and a half weeks makes a jarring, sudden sense.

You’re no computer hacker, but living with Jim has taught you a few things. It takes you about half an hour to find the cleverly disguised data wrinkle that contains the reports you’re looking for. It takes another half hour to read them, and when you’re finished, you have to go be sick before you can begin to process what this means.

He was just a boy. A scared, lonely little boy.

He’s grown up since then, but fuck all if it doesn’t matter. It all lines up too neatly, too goddamn seamlessly, a perfect nightmare scenario that only real life would have the cruelty to dream up. The hunger, the twisted politics, and Spock lying broken only a few feet away because Jim wasn’t fast enough, not good enough. That’s what this is to him, you know it, an unforgivable failure to protect what’s his. The slow shutdown that you’ve been so angry about…fuck, he wouldn’t even _visit_ Spock…he’s punishing himself for something that was never his fault.

You’ve got to find him. There isn’t much you can do, and you know that; Spock’s injuries responded to modern medicine, but Jim’s hurts run way, way deeper. You’re a doctor, not a psychiatrist. You wish you could just promise him that you and Spock will never leave his side, but in this twice-damned line of work, it would be a lie. It’s a violent flashback to those days in Academy when you knew the mega-watt smile was just a front, except now you know what it’s hiding, or part of it.

God. He was just a boy.

You don’t have a plan, but you’ve got a keycode, and that gets you through the front door. Jim hasn’t been this dedicated to paperwork since _ever_ , but now he looks up like you’re interrupting the letter that will secure intergalactic peace.

“Something you need, Bones?”

Oh, there’s something you need, all right. You need your Jim back, the cocky son of a bitch that haunts sickbay like the ghost of a peeping tom, leering at nurses and stealing kisses. You need your captain back, the one that shrugs off protocols and paperwork and saves the collective ass of his crew on sheer determination. You need your best friend and Spock’s favorite teddy bear, the kicking at night and the stranglehold cuddling in the morning. But you can’t slap a bandage on this one and wait for him to wake up. Good for Jim you’ve never been the kind of doctor who gives up because he’s never done something before. You’ll fix him, dammit.

“I live here, in case you’ve forgotten,” you growl at him. He looks down his nose at you.

“You’re my guest here, and…”

Oh, hell no. You’re not as strong as Spock, but you didn’t teach a starship crew to play arena football for nothing; you yank his chair around and slam it back into the desk, biting and licking at his mouth, looming over him where he sits. He brings his hands up and you grab them, twisting your fingers together. Spock’s taught you how to kiss this way, so it feels just as important as what your mouth is doing. You slide your lips down his throat.

“Bones, what the _fuck_?” he gasps, and you jerk back.

“You think I’m just gonna disappear on you, Jim? Think you can just blink and I’ll be gone?”

His pupils are blown wide, his expression lost. He’s breathing like he’s been running, and under any other circumstances, you’d both be getting ready for a fuck. But that’s not what this is, and he’s just realized it. In your grip, his hands tremble, just once.

“Bones…”

“Because it’s not like that. You can’t make it like that. Too far gone, Jimmy-boy. I can’t leave you until someone takes the life from me, and even then, I’m pretty sure I’ll be haunting you.”

More trembling. You slowly sink to your knees between his legs, your voice going on without your permission. You don’t even know what you’re saying, really; you’ve got your eyes locked on his like that's all that matters. He’s got to understand. You’ve got to make him understand.

“I love you, Jim. I love you. I’m not going to stop loving you, ever.”

“Bones, seriously, what are you…”

“I read it. I found the files, what happened on Tarsus IV. I know you were there, and I know you got back and there wasn’t anybody there to take care of you. That was after Sam left, wasn’t it? And your mom went back up and you never liked your stepdad and everybody else was dead.”

“Shut up. You weren't supposed to...”

“You were just a kid.” No stopping, the incision is made. It’s going to hurt, but you have to. “You were just a kid, and you needed somebody, and nobody was there. And seeing Spock like that…”

“Stop it.”

“You think you’ve failed him. All this, Prenda and the famine and the terrorists, it’s too much like what happened then. You blame yourself, and you think everybody else blames you, too, and when Spock wakes up he won’t want you and I yelled at you, _god_ , I yelled at you for not coming to see him…”

He jerks, trying to dislodge you, but you’re strong enough for just this second. “Jim. Look at me, baby. We’re not going anywhere. We love you, we want you. It’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

“It should have been me!” he yells into your face, and you can feel him start to fall apart. “I was the head of the delegation, they should have taken me!”

You relax the deathgrip you’ve got on his hands and cup his face instead.

“Honey. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m the captain,” he says, and suddenly he’s crying, ugly, honest sobs from deep in his chest. “I’m the captain, and it didn’t matter, I lost him just the same…”

You pull him out of the chair and sink to the ground, wrapping him up in your arms and hanging on tight.

“You got him back, Jim. He’s not gone, he’s gonna be fine. It’s gonna be okay, Jim, gonna be just fine.”

You keep up the litany of soothing nonsense until he quiets, rubbing his back and wanting to cry a little bit yourself. There's nothing you can say, really, to make it better, but you hope that your physical presence will say what you can't. You let him know as best you can with your hands and your heartbeat that you really are here, no matter what. He's not fighting, and you take that as a sign it's working. When he winds down to the occasional hiccup, you push his shoulders back so you can look him in the eye.

“Nobody’s lost, and nobody’s leaving. And we’ve got a Vulcan in sickbay who would probably like to see the prettiest face onboard when he wakes up. He probably wouldn’t mind seeing yours, either.”

“Shut up, Bones.” It’s a weak comeback, but he grins a little, and you crush him to your chest in a relieved hug. You're not fool enough to believe that a few tears means he's magically over all of it, but now you know, and he knows you know, and that's something. You're not sure what will happen next, but you've never just given up on a patient yet, and you sure as hell aren't going to give up on Jim.

“I love you,” you say again, soft against his hair. He doesn’t say it back, but his hands tighten against your back, and you know what he means. “Let’s go get Spock and bring him back here. Sickbay can’t really help him anymore, and those biobeds are way too tiny for three.”

He holds your hand like you’ll fly off any second, but he follows you to sickbay. He’s still spooked, but he’s there. It’s going to be slow, but you promised yourself you’d take care of him a long time ago. When he makes a face at the gurney and scoops Spock into his arms instead, you roll your eyes. Then, you smile.

***

waking up from a healing trance is like pressing through layers and layers of dark, thin cloth. reality is there, just outside, but the dark shades of the mind cling so tightly, obscuring consciousness. i need a focus to pull me through, something to remind me why waking up is important, something to clear the shadows.

pain. pain is good.

“He won’t let me do it right, sweetheart.”

is now the time for apologies? i have to wake up, to remember before they hit me again. jim’s jaw is so tight when i bleed, leonard yells and yells. don’t worry, doctor, i’ll never tell about the night i bled too much. you held my hand and cried.

“Come back to us.”

hotsoftwet against my mouth. human/jim kisses. there’s something to remember if i struggle against the dark.

“Better listen, darlin’, he ain’t playin’. Damn fool thinks you’re Sleeping Beauty.”

you call me so many names. hobgoblin. sweetheart. you only drawl like that when you want something. i love your voice. ask me again.

“You’re not going to hit him, Bones!”

“Damn it, it’s his Vulcan voodoo, not…”

“Come on, Spock, we’re fighting over you now. Being illogical and emotional. Wake up and lecture us.”

i give lectures and you ignore me. always one foot in the fray, no matter how hard i try to protect you. i should give up entirely, but i do so love to see you smile.

“Spock. Wake up.”

focus. remember. _remember._

“I’ll be damned. He’s coming out of it.”

of course. i’ll always come back for you. didn’t you know?

Jim’s eager face blocks out the light as my eyes open, and he gently kisses me. “He tried to hit you, Spock, but I protected you.”

“I tried to hit him, sweetheart, but he was kissin’ you at the time, so I didn’t.” The fingers delicately tracing my hands are as sweet and tender as the taste of Jim on my lips. Leonard looks anxious, Jim looks elated, and they are both looking at me.

“Unorthodox methodology,” I tell them, and Jim’s face falls into an expression of awe.

“Spock,” he whispers, and hesitantly touches my face. Leonard leans close and presses a fierce human kiss to my forehead.

“Never thought I’d see the day you’d give us a smile,” he grumbles. Jim laughs, giddy and exhausted.

“You should check him over, Bones, make sure he’s still with us in mind and body,” he says deliriously. “Oh, god, Spock. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

“Hush, Jim,” Leonard says quietly, and pulls Jim against his chest. Jim melts against him, suddenly boneless. Leonard pets Jim’s hair with one hand and rests the other against my fingers.

“We were scared,” he tells me simply. I curl my fingers around his thumb, the dull ache left by the regenerator a confirmation that they are healed.

“I knew Jim would find me and you would fix me. There was no need to fear.”

“Damn straight.” Jim lifts his head and glares determinedly at me, making my words a promise with his eyes. Leonard snorts.

“Two stubbornest bastards in the fucking _universe_ and I get myself saddled with _both_ of them. How does this happen?”

“Lucky,” Jim offers.

“You love us,” I reply.

“Heaven help me, I do,” he agrees, although we know so well, he doesn’t really have to say it.

“Can I get in now?” Jim asks hopefully. it registers for the first time that we are not in sickbay, but in the captain’s quarters. We usually sleep here because it has the biggest bed. Leonard and Jim are perched on the edge of it, careful not to jostle me where I lie in the middle.

“Just be _careful_ ,” Leonard orders, and Jim stands immediately to strip out of his clothes. Leonard follows at a less breakneck pace. Jim slides beneath the blankets and carefully drapes himself over me, mindful of my newly healed injuries. Leonard clambers to the other side, muttering beneath his breath as he does, and is just as gentle as Jim when he touches me. Jim is usually in the middle, but I find myself enjoying the sensation of being surrounded, protected, sheltered. We are together, and I am whole again.

***

i have called you friend and it speaks like a promise when we kiss,  
fingers to fingers and lips to lips  
what we have held and what we have done  
echoes in the emptiness between stars  
for we are not, nor can we be,  
those heroes painted bright on a thousand minds below us  
nay; but catch me up for i have seen the expanse of our fragility,  
the wasteland of our emptiness  
and i shall sew us together with the tiny veins of my heart  
(a breath of open air, closed mouth, to seal the bargain)  
the softening flames of our skin together will be your crucible and my hearthfire  
on the shores of this country never seen that we call home;  
we will not trouble the water with reflection  
but in us i will find what comfort means in gift and given,  
shriven of these pasts that dare not whisper into being  
this is my vow and my belonging, these blood-sewn gifts of breathing,  
fingers to fingers and lips to lips  
a promise that i have and evermore call you friend


End file.
